The Boscombe Valley Mystery
by Franta
Summary: A magazine editor is killed and his son is the prime suspect, but all is not as it seems as Goren and Eames are called in to give the young man a second chance to prove his innocence... based on the Sherlock Holmes story by the same title.
1. Chapter 1

Hi Everybody! (Hi Franta!) It's been a long long time since I saw you all last and graced you with the presence of my amazing writing (coughhackhackcough). I simply had to write! It's less than 2 days before a final I haven't studied for, and what's even more horrible is that i've been trapped in college life with NO CABLE and subsequently haven't seen ANY of the current season of CI except the season premier, which I loved! So, pity me for my old-school ways, but I needed fresh Bobby and Alex, and making it up seems to be the only way to get it. This is a-la Sherlock Holmes- as told from Eames' POV (and others') and based on a Holmes story by the same title...

The Boscombe Valley Mystery

I sat in my office chair, casually glancing at a report held in one hand, my breakfast (a bagel) held in the other. The chair creaked as I leaned back. It was early in the day, but late enough that I was fully awake. It was the beautiful part of the day where the white sun makes you feel new along with the rest of the earth. I leaned further back and viewed my partner from an inverted angle. "Hey, Bobby."

"Morning, Eames," he replied. "Got one for you today."

"We've got 3 other open cases already!" I protested.

"But none of them like this- this one's weird," he said sagely, as though that might change my mind.

"Weird means hard," I tried to point out.

"Weird means easy, as I've tried to tell you before. Normal is hard."

"Very well," I said, defeated. "What is it then?"

"Tony Urzo, editor of MayDay Women's Magazine was found dead in his 5th Ave apartment," my partner read aloud from the file in his hand, "he was seen arguing with his son just before-hand, who owns several guns and has a concealed weapons permit. The son has already been arrested, but a neighbor insists the boy's innocent- (she) has friends in high places, put in a call, and we get to review. That sound interesting?" he asked, leaning forward to challenge me.

"Sounds perfectly commonplace," I casually remarked, returning to my file and bagel.

"Ah, but here's the catch," Bobby pressed. "His statement, which would seem to damn him, has several things that remain unaccounted for- when he says his father-"

"So, in other words, he lied to cover up what actually happened, and lo and behold the pieces don't fit together," I replied. I took the file from him and glanced over the son's mugshot and record. "Look, he's got 3 DUIs- the kid probably got got pissed that daddy threatened to cut his allowance after he wrecked his 4th Corvette..."

"That's not what they were arguing about," Bobby said rather seriously.

"What were they arguing about then?"

He smiled. "Don't know- don't you want to find out?" He looked positively school-boyish.

"Not particularly. We've still got 3 open cases right now," I repeated.

"Come on, we can catch the subway and be there in 10 minutes... I'll buy lunch," he bribed.

Sighing, I put my bagel and paper down, got out of my chair and grabbed my coat off the back. "Gimme the file," I said as I led the way to the elevator...

* * *

Alice sat on the bench in the church. She was in the corner, like she preferred. She prayed to God for Tony's soul, she prayed to God for Jaime. She knew in her heart he was innocent, and yet he wasn't. He hadn't killed his father, that much she knew, but what she didn't know was why he kept telling her he wasn't innocent.

Alice glanced at her watch, it was almost 11am. They should be here any minute. _Wait at the church for someone- something from me. It'll explain everything," he had told her as the policeman shoved him into the back of the patrol car. "Jaime!" she cried, clutching at him, before her fingers lost touch with his jacket and the door slammed shut, obscuring his face._

She pulled her mind out of the reverie to see a young man in jeans and a flannel shirt approaching her. "Are you Alice?" he asked.

"Yes," she nodded.

"This is from Jaime," he said, handing her a small envelope

"Thanks," she whispered, turning her attention away from the retreating man and to the small, thick white envelope. She pried the thick paper open and pulled a tightly folded piece of paper from within.

"_Alice," _it began simply, _"Please believe me when I tell you I didn't kill my father. I don't know who did, but it wasn't me. Of that I am innocent. I keep telling you i'm not innocent though, and there's truth in that. My dad and I were fighting about you. I was trying to explain to him without telling the whole story. But I have to tell you. I'm married to another woman. I can't possibly explain to you my motives then vs. how I feel now, but know now I never meant to hurt you like that- you're the only woman I've ever loved since I was 12. I've loved you since before I can remember, and if I could take back what I've done to you I would, but I know nothing can't, and for that I'm truly sorry. I deserve to be in jail- not for what happened to dad, but what I did to you. I hope you can forgive me some day. Love always, Jaime."_

Alice sat there as the tears ran down her cheeks. She wasn't angry at him- she was too worried to be angry. She wanted him cleared more than ever so she could be mad at him. She wanted to rage and storm at him, to love and hold him- and she couldn't do either if he was in jail for a crime he didn't commit. Her last chance was whatever tricks New York's best detective had up his sleeves.


	2. Chapter 2

Sorry it's been a while since the first chapter. I wrote this one almost immediately after, but I wanted to make sure it was in line with my plot (which is essentially the same as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's). Also, I haven't been using my writing computer lately, so all recent adventures to the internet have been fanfic free (sniff). I hope to have the 3rd chapter up tomorrow. Thanks!

* * *

Oh! I almost forgot! Disclaimer! I hereby own nothing related to Law & Order: Criminal Intent, though I wish I did, and these old-school attempts to get my fix by writing my own stories are nothing more than the wanderings of an obsessed mind... by reading this disclaimer, Dick Wolf hereby waives his right to sue.

* * *

We stepped into the room. It was a small, well furnished room. Jaime had obviously made his ridiculously high bail- but then again, he was being charged with murder, so high bail seems logical... however, when I looked at him, it was one of the few times my gut told me there was no way this boy was a murderer- he looked far too anguished. Rarely do I get such a gut feeling, but I got the feeling this time.

"Jaime Urzo, This is Detective Eames and I'm Detective Goren," Bobby said as he closed the door behind me, his arm extended over my head. I felt shorter than ever, as he had recently brought the subject up. On the ride over he proceeded to point out how the length of my stride in relation to my height proved that my feet were smaller than normal- so, not only am I short, I have small feet too. Thanks, Bobby.

I looked to Bobby, then the boy. He stepped forward to shake my hand, then went back to the chair he had been occupying. He looked so young, his green eyes pleaded earnest innocence and his short curly brown hair seemed positively juvenile, despite the fact that it all summed one particularly handsome man. I kept these thoughts to myself. Perhaps if Bobby felt he needed use of them I might mention them.

"You have a very well connected friend," I said, sitting down in the plush chair across from Jaime. Bobby paced behind me. "We don't usually play the role of defense attorney."

"I didn't do it!" he immediately began. "I left and came back again. And I found him-"

"Whoa," I said, holding up a hand. "Slow down there."

"From the beginning," Bobby said, still pacing. He seemed unaffected by all that I had noticed. He may notice things (and I'm sure he noticed what I did), but sometimes I doubt if he feels them.

"I came home the afternoon of the 15th around 2pm." I raised an eyebrow. "I had to change for a dinner party with my father. I remember because I knew exactly how much time I had to get ready- 2 hrs. I was supposed to meet Alice- my neighbor- for coffee and then go straight to the dinner."

"What changed?" Bobby asked.

"Rita, the housekeeper, said that my dad wanted to talk to me. She said he had headed to the fitness room when I asked where."

"You were arrested with your gun on you, and it had been recently discharged. It's also the same type of gun that killed your father."

"I was at the shooting range before I came home."

"Why do you need a gun?" I asked, inferring, _you're to innocent looking and too wealthy to need a gun for pretection._

"I'm just used to shooting. I've been hunting with my dad since i was a boy." _Great,_ I thought, _he's a mountain momma's boy- that's why he's so cute._ "I had my gun with me because I had just gotten home from the range," he repeated. "My lawyer can tell you- i'm not sure what you need to know to confirm that..." he mumbled. My pity increased.

"I already know," Bobby said.

Jaime looked taken aback, although I knew Bobby meant no personal attack, I could see where it could be interpreted as one. I leaned forward to regain control of the conversation. "So, what happened then?"

"Well, like I said, I found my dad in the fitness room- he- we started fighting. I ended up punching him, so I left," he said, hanging his head in shame. "Then a few minutes later, as I was getting into the elevator to go back downstairs, I heard a gunshot... and I ran back, and tried to pick him up, but he was limp and..." he stopped short and buried his face in his hands to keep from crying. He looked up again.

"What were you arguing about?" Bobby asked.

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head as though rationalizing.

"It might be important-" I began, but I was cut off, not by Bobby, as I might have expected, but Jaime, who said shortly, "it's not, because I didn't kill him, and there's no way the bastard who killed him knew what we were fighting about."

"What makes you say that?" Bobby asked.

"Because- nobody knew! But- it doesn't matter, and I don't want to talk about it."

"I think," Bobby began slowly, "that there's every possibility the killer knew what you were arguing about, because of his proximity to you at the time- having shot your father only moments after you finished arguing."

Jaime's eyes widened and he sat up straight, then, just as quickly as it had happened, the look was gone. I knew Bobby had caught it too. "I can't tell you," he said, anguished.

I gave my partner a significant look before getting up to leave the room.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks to the rare reviewer- I love reviews!

* * *

Bobby and I had barely gotten off the elevator at OnePP when a young woman with extremely long wavy blonde hair threw herself into my partner's arms. 

"Detective Goren!" she cried. "I had to meet you myself- you must believe he is innocent!" _Ah, this must be Alice_.

Bobby composed himself after such a forward physical violation and put his hand on her back to lead her to his desk chair. "Please, Ms. Vinsky, have a seat," he said, bemused. "I'm glad you found out who we were."

"My dad told me," she said, matter-of-factly.

Bobby sat her, then me, and then asked, "What can you tell us? Given Jaime's version of the events coupled with his refusal to tell us what the argument was about, he leaves little room to imagine his innocence."

I turned to look at my suddenly verbose partner, then back to the pretty girl sitting across from me. She had the same tragic look in her eyes that Jaime had. She looked lost, as if to tell us, _"Where would I begin?"_ "How long have you known Jaime?" I asked, giving her a point to start with.

"Since we were babies. My dad has known his dad since before I was born. He's the one who gave Tony the editor's position. Dad always said we owed it to him..." she trailed off.

"Why would he say that?" Bobby asked.

"I'm not sure," she sniffed before looking up at us. "Where's Jaime now?"

"He was released on bail- he's at home," I answered. She looked relieved, but mortified.

"Ms. Vinsky," Bobby pressed. "Do you know what Jaime and his dad were arguing about?"

She looked up, and it took her a long time to answer. Tears clung to her pale eyelashes, and she slowly began, "Tony was pushing for us- Jaime and I- to get married. Jaime and I- we've only ever been like brother and sister. I guess-" she paused. "I guess Tony must have been pressuring Jaime. They argued about it frequently."

"In front of you?" Bobby asked.

"Only once, but Jaime talked about it just before..." She looked down at her lap, where she was fiddling with her purse strap. I looked to Bobby, who seemed to be digesting information. "Excuse me," she said rather suddenly, getting to her feet. "I have to go. I've got- i've got to meet someone. I can't be late."

"Sure," I said, getting up as well.

"Just one more thing, Ms. Vinsky," Bobby said, holding out a hand. "How can we reach your dad? He hasn't been at work and they won't tell us where he is."

"He's been ill," she said. "Prostate Cancer. He's too ill to see anybody."

"Oh."

"Thank you- I know it must be really tough for you." I said, standing up. She gave one more troubled look before turning around without answer and walking toward the elevators. The sympathy deepened in my stomach as I watched her long hair sway along her thin back. She disappeared into the elevator and I turned back to my partner. My objectivity was gone, that much was for certain. Bobby was the only one left. While I could put the pieces together, I was no longer capable of knowing which pieces to look for. Only Bobby could do that now...

* * *

Jaime poured himself another sliver of whiskey and gulped it down- he made for a third, but there was a knock on the door. 

"It's open," he shouted. He nearly dropped his glass when Alice walked through the door. "Alice-"

"Don't say anything just yet," she said. She closed the door behind her and crossed the room to him. He hugged her and breathed deeply. She smelled so sweet, as she always did. "Alice," he began again.

"Who is this woman?" she said, pulling the letter from her purse.

"She was a girl I met while I was away in Europe. I was lonely and drunk- Alice-"

"You were there for only 2 months- you couldn't hold on 2 months?" she asked, her dispair was being replaced by anger.

He looked about wildly and began fumbling through a pile on papers on the table by the front door. His hand emerged holding an envelope that had been ripped open in haste. "It doesn't matter, Alice! Look!" he said, hardly able to supress a smile of relief as he cross the room back to her and handed her the envelope. He placed it in her hand, which he took in his. "It's ok- we can-"

She pulled her hand free from his and carefully pulled the letter from the crumpled envelope. "I'm getting a little tired of letters," she shot at him while unfolding it. She read through it and smiled despite herself, but it was gone almost as soon as it had appeared. "It doesn't undo what you did."

"But it undoes what happened," he said, taking her hand again. "Alice," he began again, but she pulled her hand away again. She no longer looked angry, but sad.

"Let's get you cleared first," she said, straightening her shirt and turning to regain her breath and composure. She put the letter in her purse. He didn't ask why.

He watched as she made for the door, but called out, "Will you stay with me tonight?" She looked at him without answer. "It's the first time i've been back since dad... and it's..."

"Dad wouldn't like it," she said before turning the handle and disappearing into the hallway.

The door clicked behind her and Jaime mumbled, "Your dad," before pouring himself another sliver of whiskey...


	4. Chapter 4

Useless smut to pass the time. Thanks for all the reviews!

* * *

I set my glass on the scratched counter and waved down the bartender. "Another, please," I said before turning to Bobby. 

"What's wrong?" he asked me.

"Surely you can tell," I said, taking another drink from my newly filled cranberry and vodka.

"You seem very personally invested in this one," he said, before taking a sip from his beer.

I practically slammed my glass on the counter and said, "He's so young! And Alice- the pair of them. They seems so..."

"Naive?"

"I was going to say innocent."

"Of course they are."

"You believe them, then? I'm not just imagining things?"

"No, you see more than you need to see, I think. You can't get so personally invested- it's bad for _them._" He put a hand on my shoulder then removed it.

"I know, I know..." I hung my head in my chest.

"Come on, Eames- let's get you home," he said, throwing some bills on the counter and putting an arm around my back and lifting me from the barstool.

"I'm fine, I can walk, Bobby. I'm not that pathetic." I pushed his arm off on my shoulder and headed for the door.

By the time we reached my apartment, I was starting to feel dizzy and sleepy. My keys slid in and out of focus as my partner took them from me and opened the door.

"Bobby," I asked with a slur in my voice as his name trickled from my tongue.

"Yes," he replied, a little too much understanding in his voice.

"We'll get 'im off, won't we?" I felt my feet leave the floor- he was hoisting me into my bed.

"In the morning," he said, removing my shoes and sliding my legs under the covers.

I reached out for him- my eyes were half-closed. I felt his hand in mine. "Good," I managed to say, just before my hand slid out of his and everything went dark...

* * *

Alice knocked on the door. "Jaime?" she called. There was no answer, and after a few seconds, she tried the handle and the door opened. 

She crept slowly through the sitting room. "Jaime?" She looked across the room and saw a figure huddled up on the sofa. The TV was on. "Jaime," she whispered. He jerked awaked and looked groggily up at her.

"Alice," he mumbled, sitting up. She sat down next to him.

"Did you sleep here?" she asked, brushing some of his hair out of his face.

"Yah."

She caught the strong smell of putrid whiskey in his breath and winced. "The police want to talk to dad," she continued.

"They don't think he did it?" he asked. "There's no way he could have- he can barely walk!"

"I don't know," she responded, tears leaking from her eyes.

"Alice," he whispered, pulling her into his arms.

She cried for a minute into his shoulder before sitting up again and saying. "You're such a stupid drunk," she said, laughing through the snot clogging her nose. "At least the tart had the decency to get an annulment."

"I don't think being married to a murderer was her cup of tea." He brushed her cheek and she leaned into it.

"You're not a murderer- just an idiot."

He smiled painfully. "What are we going to do about the police and your dad?"

"I don't know," she said. "They're coming up today- One of the detectives wants to look at the building while the other talks to dad."

"Are you going to let them?"

"Don't really have much of a choice, do I? Besides, if it'll get you off," she tugged at his shirt and busied her hands in the folds, fidgeting nervously.

Jaime took her hands to stop them tearing a hole in her shirt and looked into her eyes. He leaned in and kissed her, and she kissed him back.

He had begun to tug at the hem of her shirt when there was a knock at the door. "Jaime Urzo? This is Detectives Eames and Goren," said a smooth, forceful female voice.


End file.
